Absence
by SeveRemus
Summary: Absence does make the heart grow fonder, as both Reese and Finch discover during their second encounter with Root. It might also give them the courage to confess how they really feel each other... MM SLASH so don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

Absence

* * *

A/N: After Episode 1.23 "Firewall." In celebration of Jim Caviezel's birthday and the Season 2 Premiere.

* * *

As a general rule, Reese never swore to do anything, accomplish anything, anymore. He had failed far too many times to trust even himself as a sure bet, although he knew that he was one of the best at what he did. Sometimes, despite all of his planning and determination, circumstances beyond his control simply broke in to prevent him from achieving his goals. Call it Fate, if you will, but John Reese was keenly aware that even the best laid plans of mice and men go often astray.

However, when he arrived at the rendezvous point to find no sign of Finch or Turing but rather the dead body of a former NSA agent, he did vow one thing: to get Finch back or die trying. After everything the reclusive, paranoid genius had done for him, he would stop at nothing less. Since Reese had endured torture countless times, he could imagine very vividly what sort of agony Finch was going through. He could not help but remember the kind of pain the human body could withstand while still continuing to survive, its existence no longer a blessing but a curse.

He _would_ get him back. He owed him that much. If he died in the effort, well, he had already been as good as dead when Finch had found him. And if he could not rescue Finch and bring him back to safety, then, as a last resort, he was prepared to kill him — quickly, painlessly, so that he would not have to endure any more misery — and follow him into that good night. It wasn't that he _wouldn't_ do his job (or the Machine's job, depending on how you looked at it) without his friend; he simply _couldn't_. Without Finch giving him directions and hacking into databases and buzzing in his ear, Reese realized, he had no incentive to keep going. Not even the smiles and heartfelt thanks from the Numbers he had saved thus far could motivate him to continue. He _needed_ Finch, like a fish needed water.

He also vowed, as he lay awake at night staring at the light patterns on his ceiling from the street below, trying in vain to get some sleep or at least some rest so he could function better in his search for his partner, that if he were successful in rescuing Finch, he would do all the things that he had wanted to do but had hesitated — not out of professional decorum, as he had told himself at the time, but out of fear of rejection, as he was now willing to acknowledge — to Finch, consequences be damned. He was going to grab Finch's hand as they walked side by side in the park and not let go. He was going to rub Finch's shoulders, even if the other man protested, until that sore neck finally eased up; hell, he would massage them every day! And he would kiss Finch, over and over, on his forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips — God, how he wished he had kissed him already! — until the stubborn old man either relented or returned the gesture. He was not going to hold back; he would woo the one he loved with all of his heart, using every last trick he knew and charm he possessed; and if Finch ultimately did reject him, at least it was better than wondering what might have happened if he'd only tried. It would be better than wondering if he would never see Finch again, having never done a single one of those things — never knowing whether the other man might have, just possibly, reciprocated.

And so Reese clenched his teeth in frustration as he spent fruitless hours trying to rest, when his soul could not possibly find repose with its other half still missing.


	2. Chapter 2

Absence

* * *

A/N: Finch's point of view.

* * *

Finch hoped desperately that Reese would not look for him, and yet he also hoped — equally desperately — that he would. Although he was nervous around guns and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Root would not hesitate to use hers, he was more concerned that she might turn its lethal aim on innocent bystanders — people going about their daily, mundane lives with no inkling of who Finch was or what he had created or that it was watching them constantly, day and night. In this as well, Root had judged him correctly: Finch was not afraid to die. After all, he was already dead, and he knew exactly how much pain a human body could and could not withstand. He had prepared a contingency (he was confident that Reese would be able to figure out his encryption system) in the event that he became unable to work on the Numbers. He was, in fact, ready to die.

But he also was not about to throw away his life unnecessarily. He wanted to find out, first of all, how much Root knew about the Machine, and next what she was attempting to do with that knowledge. If he could distract her, mislead her, foil her in any way, he would. Or die trying. He tried not to think about that, concentrating instead on gathering information, on not giving out any more information than was necessary, and on not reacting to what she said in a way that might betray what he was thinking.

However, he could not help reacting when she mentioned Nathan's name in passing — very casually, almost off-handedly — with enough context to tell him that she knew exactly how his late friend had been involved. She had heard Alicia's remarks about him, of course, as she had made clear by her comment upon entering his car; but it was obvious, as he recalled what the murdered woman had said, that Root had already known about Nathan as well as Alicia. Finch was sure there had been no information regarding Ingram on his computer system in the library when Root had hacked it, so she must have worked it out from the other end, figuring out which companies had been contracted by the government after 9-11. She had put two and two together — or, in this case, the one dollar payment from the federal government to IFT, which (he now realized) must have seemed like a glaring aberration in a sea of normal government overspending.

She knew more, far more, than Finch had expected, which rattled him. It also meant that she was far more dangerous as well, so he became more determined than ever to try to stop her in her efforts, whatever they were. He tried not to think about Reese, to not hope for a rescue, although as he grew wearier the longer he remained in Root's clutches, he caught his mind wandering more frequently to thoughts of his partner. In those moments, he acknowledged that Reese was too determined and too stubborn to give up, even if the Machine gave him no assistance (as Finch had been careful to instruct it) and he could not access the library computer (since Finch had not given him the password). But what the former operative sometimes lacked in subtlety, he more than made up for in tenacity, and Finch could not suppress the tiny bird called Hope that rustled in his breast. Reese would look for him. He would not give up unless there were no options left. And if he did manage to find Root, Finch would bet all of his significant savings on John.

He caught himself thinking of the taller man, remembering how they had first met (though Reese had no recollection of it), how they had met again after he had finally tracked the elusive man down, and how they had slowly grown to trust each other. Finch mentally shook himself, forcing his mind to concentrate on the task at hand, but his brief lapse in self-discipline did serve a purpose: it made him remember what he had to live for. The teasing banter his employee-turned-friend would bait him to engage in, the quiet camaraderie they shared over their respective drinks, the sly smiles that he occasionally managed to elicit from Reese and which took his breath away. If he ever got the chance to enjoy those moments again, he would not take them for granted; he would cherish them as the precious, priceless gems they were. And he would make sure that Reese knew how much he appreciated him. Perhaps, even, if the right moment presented itself… how much he meant to him.

And so with his resolve strengthened, Finch continued playing his deadly game of chess with his captor.


	3. Chapter 3

Absence

* * *

Finch was rushed out of the train station by Reese to avoid the police that were converging on the report of shots fired. He stumbled a few times, his legs still unsteady from the lingering effects of the tranquilizer, but each time Reese managed to catch him before he lost his balance entirely. Finch was out of breath from the nerve-wracking excitement as well as the sudden physical activity, and when he felt the taller man's strong arms wrapped around him, it took his breath away for a totally different reason: Reese was here, he was real, he had somehow managed – against all odds – to find him and rescue him, and Finch realized that he was going to live to see another day. Possibly many days. And he fervently hoped that most if not all of those days would include this amazing man, whom he had discovered out of the seven billion people populating the planet.

Reese helped him into the passenger seat of the rental car before maneuvering it through traffic. Only when they were on the highway headed towards New York did he relax and unclench his jaw.

"I'm sorry I let her get away," he finally said after drawing a deep breath. "I just couldn't risk us getting caught by law enforcement."

"No apology necessary, Mr. Reese," Finch replied. "After what you managed to pull off... Frankly, I don't know how you did it."

"First things first: are you all right?"

"Yes. She'd drugged me with a tranquilizer before leaving for the station, but it's almost worn off and, thankfully, I have rather a high tolerance for drugs."

Reese hazarded a glance in his direction. "You look like you've lost weight. And what happened to your hand?"

"Oh, this is nothing – she cut it to distract a pharmacist long enough to steal the drugs. At least I got it treated right away... And yes, I suppose I _have_ lost some weight. It's not like I couldn't afford to... I simply didn't feel the need to eat when I was certain that I would meet my demise the moment she tired of me or got what she wanted from me... I was hoping it would be the former rather than the latter."

Reese clenched his jaw again and, after the briefest of hesitations, set his right hand on Finch's knee to give it a gentle squeeze. "We'll get some food in a bit. We'll need more gas, too, to make it back. Meanwhile, here's some chocolate."

Finch took the offered sweet, but before he could eat any of it, there was a burning question he had to ask.

"How on earth _did_ you find us?"

"The Machine gave me a Number," Reese said, his mouth quirking for a moment. "The first Number was just another case – some guy who'd stolen from the Aryan Brotherhood and was about to pay the price. I saved his sorry ass but told the Machine I wouldn't help any more Numbers unless _it_ helped me find _you_. Then it gave me the Number of a girl who'd disappeared back in the Nineties that I thought for sure was Root, but—"

"Wait – you gave the Machine an _ultimatum?_"

"Yeah. And it worked. That missing girl was Root's friend..."

Reese continued to fill in a flabbergasted Finch on how Carter had pieced together what the cold case had to do with Root ("You dragged Detective Carter halfway across the country?") and how he had managed to follow the money trail to Root's last credit card transaction.

"Fusco did his part, too," he grudgingly concluded. "I showed him how to bluejack a cell phone, and he figured out who was tampering with the evidence on Alicia Corwin's case. That led me to that house, where I found your cufflink and the code. And you know the rest."

"Very impressive," Finch murmured, the sentiment no less heartfelt for being spoken around a mouthful of chocolate. "But I'm still at a loss that... the Machine helped you find me. I specifically programmed it to _not_ give me preferential treatment—"

"'Preferential treatment'?" Reese echoed in disbelief. "You made it to protect people, didn't you? And _you're_ a human being, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but..." Finch hedged, then started over. "In the beginning, the Machine tried to save me from an accident that it saw was about to happen, but I couldn't let _it_ try to save me. Don't you see? That's not what it was for. Its purpose is, first and foremost, to detect terrorist threats. It can't start trying to save _everybody_ who's in a bad situation – that would require much more sophisticated programming, and anyhow, that's not what I built it to do. Alicia accused me of creating God, but that was exactly what I made sure I _didn't_ do. I just wanted to create an alert mechanism, something to monitor what was happening and alert the authorities to serious threats – a _machine_ to invade our privacy rather than human beings hired by the government, who could and would use such power for their own personal gain." Finch licked his lips before continuing, "The fact that the Machine saw the irrelevant list was a... an unexpected side effect. I'm not saying it's not useful, of course, just that it wasn't its primary purpose."

Reese moved into the right lane and slowed down, preparing to exit the highway.

"Still, there's no reason to exclude yourself from the irrelevant list. Unless you're deliberately trying to make my job harder than it has to be."

"That was never my intention, Mr. Reese, as you're well aware. I didn't intend for you to try to rescue me at all."

"So you expected me to just give you up for dead, or worse, to be tortured by a madwoman, and go on saving Numbers like nothing happened?" There was a dangerous undertone of anger in Reese's words, although he continued to drive efficiently and safely off the highway towards a twenty-four-hour truck stop.

"Frankly, yes," Finch answered, his voice quiet and subdued. "I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but I'm... quite ready to die, Mr. Reese, if it means keeping the Machine out of the wrong hands. After all, I'm already dead." His attempt at humor fell flat against Reese's stony silence. "I didn't want you risking your life to rescue me when... you're the last person who can do anything about the Numbers."

Finch could not bring himself to state the other reason: that he could not bear to put Reese in danger over his own wellbeing. He had been struggling more and more in recent months with having Reese in jeopardy every time he worked a case, even though that was the very purpose for which he had hired him. But with every passing day, he had grown more attached to the handsome former operative; and with every injury the man incurred, Finch had grown to dread the inevitable day when he might be shot, stabbed, or beaten beyond recovery. It was a very real fear that caused him to clench his hands in his lap even now, as Reese pulled the car into a parking space in front of the diner.

Reese cut off the engine and took the keys out of the ignition, but did not move to exit the car.

"You may be ready to die, Finch... but I'm not ready to let you." He turned to fix the older man with a piercing gaze. "Promise me that you'll never give up. That no matter how bad the situation, you'll hang on until I come get you." He swallowed hard and repeated, "Promise me."

"I... I will, John," Finch promised, touched by the genuine concern in the other man's eyes. "I won't give up as long as... I know you're out there, trying."

Reese nodded once in acknowledgement before getting out of the car. Finch followed suit more slowly, his legs stiff from the extended inactivity, so that by the time he stood up Reese was at his side, offering his arm and assistance. Wordlessly, Finch took hold of that strong arm and allowed Reese to close the car door for him. He felt somewhat self-conscious when Reese opened the door to the diner as well, especially since there were several truck drivers inside watching their approach, but he could not deny the warm fluttering in his heart as of a thousand butterflies at Reese's gallant gesture.


	4. Chapter 4

Absence

* * *

Over a sandwich and fries for Reese and oatmeal and fruit for Finch (who didn't want to shock his system after fasting for so long), they compared notes about Root's past and her intentions. They were careful to speak in low tones so as to not be overheard by the other customers or the waitress who frequently returned to their table to top off Reese's coffee. As Finch recounted his harrowing experience with Root, he realized that he was still tense from the long ordeal, so he took a deep breath and willed his body to relax.

"I'm sorry," Reese said suddenly, startling Finch.

"Whatever for?"

"I should've seen through her... all that talk about panicking, but she managed to rewire the elevator without her hands even shaking. I should've realized..."

"John, you can't blame yourself over this," Finch interrupted. "She'd set a trap – a very meticulous trap – and we'd seen exactly what she'd wanted us to see. We've run into cases before where people were not what they seemed, of course, but... this was our first encounter with someone who was actively _trying_ to deceive us... someone who actually _knew_ what we were doing."

"Still... I have this blind spot when it comes to women. I should've known better already, but I keep missing it – I just don't see them as potential perpetrators."

Finch considered this for a moment before responding, "Well, at least you're aware of this blind spot, so in the future we can _both_ be more careful. Consider it a learning curve, John. It's not like there's a twelve-step program teaching us how to do this, you know."

Seeing Finch force a smile onto his careworn face, Reese returned a wry smirk as well.

"No. I guess not. Although by the time we're through, you could probably write a book about it."

Finch chuckled. "Yes... but who would buy it?"

When they'd finished eating, Reese helped him get up out of the booth and they took turns in the single-stall bathroom. Finch had been rather nervous about a few of the truckers who'd been eyeing them over the course of their meal, but they seemed less hostile when they saw how badly Finch was limping. He didn't mean to exaggerate it, of course, since that would have made Reese worry, but he didn't bother to hide it, either. He breathed a sigh of relief when they were back in the car and headed north on the highway.

"Say, Harold..." Reese began hesitantly, which put Finch's brain on high alert – Reese was almost never indecisive. "I was wondering... once we get back to the City... if there's someplace you want me to take you."

Finch felt his own defenses go up at once, instinctively. He had thought Reese was over his curiosity about where he lived, and it seemed uncharacteristic of him to make such an obvious attempt to weasel it out of him.

"I'd like to go to the library and make sure everything's in order. Apparently, Ms. Corwin had been following me – I want to check that my system hasn't been compromised," he told Reese, his manner guarded.

"All right. I didn't notice anything out of place when I was there, but I couldn't access the computers so I wouldn't know if they'd been tampered with."

"Uh... right," Finch replied, wondering if Reese were hinting that he should give him the password.

"I was thinking," Reese said, then licked his lips before starting over. "I realize you've been through a lot, and you probably just want to go home and have a hot bath or read and relax in your own comfortable surroundings, so I'm sure this is the last thing you'd want to do, but if you don't mind I was hoping you would spend a few days at _my_ place."

The last part of his statement had come out in a rush and so, combined with the unexpected nature of the request, it took Finch a moment to process it.

"You want me to stay at _your_ place?" he repeated, perplexed. "Whatever for?"

"So I can keep an eye on you. So I know that you're _safe_."

Finch stared at Reese's profile, half-hidden in the growing dusk of the evening, with his mouth agape. It dawned on him how worried Reese must have been about him during his abduction to want to keep him close now – to want the reassurance of having him near.

"Well, I... I suppose I could manage that," Finch replied slowly, unable to mask his surprise. In fact, he was surprised at himself as well. But it felt good to be back with Reese again, to feel safe. And now that the opportunity had presented itself, he wanted nothing more than to spend time with his partner in fighting crime. So he decided that it would not be a bad idea to go along with Reese's proposal, and managed to come up with a plausible reason why he would. "Actually... I think... after what I've been through, I could use the company."

Reese exhaled as though he had been holding his breath.

"Good. Then we'll stop by someplace to pick up what you need."

* * *

The "someplace" turned out to be a bodega in Chinatown which Reese had been frequenting since moving into the neighborhood. Finch was glad to see they had a full selection of combed cotton underwear, even though he had to convert his measurements into metric.

"Look, Finch: they have silk pajamas, too," Reese informed him, holding up a package.

"Mr. Reese... there are dragons all over it," Finch pointed out with distaste.

"Dragons are a sign of power and health in China," Reese countered. "Even virility." He put the bright green item in the basket along with the underwear Finch had selected, then took the entire basket away from the him. "I'll pay for this with my card so you don't leave a trail. Now let's go find you a toothbrush and a shaving kit."

* * *

Finch felt rather strange to be walking into Reese apartment with the man himself – before he had given the key to Reese, he had stopped by often to make sure the right furniture was delivered and set up properly. He noticed the bed had been moved a few feet inward, away from the windows, but other than that the place looked almost the same as when he had last left it.

They had discussed going straight to the library, but when Reese had asked if he didn't want to take a shower first to clean off, the image of the old claw-footed tub at the loft had lodged itself in Finch's brain. As hard as it was for him to climb into one of those, he loved how deep the hot water could be drawn; in fact he owned one himself and had ordered a special non-slip stepstool to make it easier and safer to use. When he had confessed to Reese that a nice soak would be just the thing for his tense muscles, his rescuer immediately decided that they would shop for the things he needed and let him freshen up at the apartment before going back out to the library.

"Don't feel like you need to hurry – I have a couple of errands to run, anyway," Reese told him. "Here's a hanger for your suit. Just leave your other stuff on the floor and I'll throw them in the washing machine."

"Ah, thank you," Finch said as he pulled off his tie, already anticipating the luxury of feeling clean again.

"I'll get the water started for you. Do you like it hot?"

"Yes, please."

Finch eased out of his suit jacket and hung it on the hook on the bathroom door while Reese used the removable showerhead to give the tub a quick once-over. The vest was next, but Finch paused before removing his shirt, acutely aware of Reese's lingering presence.

"Harold... if you don't mind... I just need to see for myself that you're all right," Reese explained.

After swallowing once and bracing himself, Finch began unbuttoning his shirt. The action must have jogged Reese's memory, since he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small item which he set on the counter by the sink.

"Here's your cufflink."

"Ah, yes..."

Fishing its twin out of his own pocket, Finch lined them up.

"It's good to have the pair back together again."

"Yeah" was all Reese said, but Finch instinctively knew they were both thinking the same thing: some pairs simply belonged together. And even though they were two very different men, with widely different backgrounds and temperaments, they were a pair, too.

As Finch removed first his shirt and then his undershirt, he could almost feel Reese's eyes scanning his skin, making sure he was unscathed. Despite his aversion to anything that could be considered an invasion of privacy, he found he didn't mind it. His only moment of self-consciousness was when he glanced down and saw how far out his belly still protruded.

Reese took his shirt with a businesslike nod to dispel the awkwardness and gestured at his bandaged hand.

"There's a first aid kit in the medicine cabinet, but I'll patch you up afterward. Take your time and... try to relax. I'll be back in a bit."

"Okay," Finch replied. Before he could think of anything else to say, Reese slipped out of the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Absence

* * *

Finch carefully stepped over the side of the tub after testing the water temperature. Sharp pain shot through his injured hip for a moment but he shifted his weight onto his left hand, gripping the rim, and managed to hoist himself over. He sighed in relief as the hot water surged around his exhausted body. Although the tub was not yet completely filled, he couldn't wait any longer to get clean. Finding the new bar of soap Reese had set out for him, Finch started scrubbing his skin with relish, feeling as though somehow the unpleasantness of the past few days could be washed away along with the sweat and dirt.

There had been horror, too – a deep, gut-wrenching horror as Weeks (despite the fact that Finch had given him the knife to get free) had pointed the gun at him; and as dastardly as the man had proven to be, it had been horrifying to watch Root murder him in cold blood. She had done the same to Corwin without so much as turning a hair. Finch now knew what a ruthless, remorseless killer looked like – crazy as well, if brilliant in her own way, but all the more dangerous. He steamed his face with the washcloth, inhaling the hot, moist air and letting it out slowly, trying to relax.

He turned off the faucet when the water rose to a few inches from the lip, then lay back to soak. He reminded himself that he was safe now: he was back in New York, he was with Reese, and the Machine had not been compromised. He worried about Root having heard that the Machine could be reprogrammed on-site, but he hoped she would not be able to find where that site was. Even if she did, he was confident that his encryption was impossible for anyone – even a gifted programmer like her – to crack. He'd managed to foil her last-ditch attempt to shoot the station security guard. Perhaps not all was right with the world but, for the moment at least, it was safe. He could rest.

It occurred to him that he would be resting in Reese's apartment tonight – perhaps for the next few nights. He remembered how he had agonized over selecting the right bed for his tall partner, shopping at several stores and finally deciding on one of the largest ones available, then outfitting it with a firm pillow-top mattress which offered both support and comfort. He wondered (not for the first time) if it had been a good choice for Reese, if the man liked it as much as he had hoped he would. He realized that the chance to ask him – off-handedly, of course – might arise sometime during the course of his stay.

And then he also realized that he had only purchased the one bed for the apartment.

_"Well, knowing John, he'll probably offer me the bed and sleep on the couch himself,"_ Finch reasoned. _"Or I could offer to take the couch, since he's no doubt worked himself ragged trying to find me. That's what I ought to do, even though it would be rather hard on my body... but at least it's better than being strapped to a chair."_

He knew his restraints hadn't been that bad, relatively speaking, but it was a great relief to be able to scratch one's nose whenever it itched. He finished washing and was waiting for the bathwater to drain when there were two quiet knocks on the door.

"John?" he anxiously asked, covering his chest with the washcloth instinctively. The door opened a crack and Reese's arm snaked in to deposit a pair of black socks on the counter.

"I'll have your shirt ready in a few minutes," Reese told Finch before closing the door.

Finch showered off, cleaning the tub in the process, and silently thanked Reese for thinking of clean socks. He was planning on picking up the spare socks, shirts, and suits he kept at the library, so he hadn't thought to buy socks at the bodega earlier. This pair looked and felt brand new, which made Finch wonder if they were one of Reese's spares or if the man had gone out on his "errands" just to buy them for him. Either way, the simple gesture almost made him weep; it was nice to be cared for, and not by a sociopath. Giving himself a mental shake – blaming his emotional state on exhaustion – Finch self-consciously stepped out of the bathroom in only his underwear and, of course, the clean pair of socks.

What greeted him was a sight that almost made him forget his half-clad condition: Reese was ironing his shirt. From the practiced way his hands moved, forming crisp creases along the sleeves, Finch realized that the talented former operative must have been ironing his own shirts all along. Finch paid his cleaners (several stores, in fact) top dollar for the service.

"It's still hot. You can wear my bathrobe until it cools down," Reese said as he hung the shirt on the back of a chair and pointed at the bed where his bathrobe was laid out. "Let me take a look at your hand."

Finch had removed the surface bandages before taking his bath, but there was one layer of taped gauze (now wet) still covering the butterfly closures. After Finch had wrapped himself in the soft, navy-blue robe, Reese removed the gauze carefully and inspected the row of tape strips holding the wound closed. Finch felt a thrill travel up and down his spine at the warm touch of Reese's hands, holding his so the man could inspect the cut. Reese nodded with satisfaction and headed into the bathroom.

"Looks good. I'll just put some ointment on it before wrapping it up."

Finch opened his mouth to say he could do that much himself, but something made him hesitate. It _would_ be easier to have Reese wrap it, of course; he could not hope to wrap it himself with one hand, or at least not neatly; so he might as well have Reese apply the antiseptic cream, too. He allowed the taller man to do so without comment...

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

"There's water in the kettle – it should be close to boiling. I picked up some of your tea while I was out," Reese mentioned as he wrapped fresh bandages around Finch's hand with deft movements.

"That's... very thoughtful of you, Mr. Reese. A spot of tea sounds... absolutely _wonderful_," Finch confessed.

"I'm gonna catch a quick shower, too, if you don't mind. I won't be long." With the hint of a wry smile at the corners of his mouth, Reese added, "Make yourself at home."

When the bathroom door closed behind Reese and the shower turned on, Finch tried not to imagine Reese standing in the tub, naked and with soap suds trailing down his wet body. Giving himself another mental shake, Finch shuffled over to the kitchen and found that Reese had, indeed, bought his favorite brand of loose-leaf tea along with a strainer. Filling a mug with the steaming brew, he padded over to the couch, which had been turned around to face the large windows, and sat down to face the view.

The building across the way was rented out to small businesses, with stores on the ground floor, so there were no lights on – and no prying eyes – at this time of night. Finch tried removing one of the seat back cushions of the couch and assessed the width available for sleeping on: narrow, but not uncomfortably so. He needn't feel overly gallant for offering to take it nor excessively indebted to Reese if the other man insisted he take the bed. If he could just be sure that the computer system at the library hadn't been tampered with, he would be able to sleep well tonight. He was exhausted, his nerves had been frayed from too much nervous excitement, and if his last worry were laid to rest, then so could he.

He took a few more sips of the tea before getting back up to get dressed. He was still buttoning his shirt when Reese emerged from the bathroom, already fully clothed. After bringing Finch's suit to him, Reese rummaged in his closet and pulled out what looked like a gym bag.

"For your clothes," he explained, offering the bag to Finch.

"Thank you, but I have a suitcase at the library."

"Let's go then," Reese said with a grin.


	6. Chapter 6

Absence

* * *

On the way to the library, Reese talked about the case the Machine had given him before it had helped him track down Root's roots. Finch listened with as much attention as he could muster in his exhausted state, although he thought of it as nothing more than a work report. For now it was soothing just to let Reese's soft voice wash over him with the information, and gratifying to hear how he had managed to decrypt the message from the Machine. With detached amusement, he heard about the dog the Aryan Brotherhood had taken in lieu of payment, and he pondered how uniquely fitted for the job Reese had turned out to be. When Reese parked in an alleyway very close to the library, Finch realized it was for his benefit and gratefully entered their stronghold.

When he saw the animal Reese had mentioned earlier actually _inside_ his most valued piece of real estate – inside his inner sanctum, in fact – he was aghast. Even more so to see that the dog had chewed the corners of a rare first edition which he had acquired at great cost, due to its (formerly) pristine condition. But as he observed the frayed edges of the book, damaged beyond repair, Finch reminded himself that it was only an object; just a few hours earlier he had been resigned to his fate, even if it meant death, and had given up any hope of returning to this building. It was a miracle that he was alive at all – a miracle which he owed to Reese's capability and tenacity – so, with a renewed perspective, he shrugged off the loss.

He also realized that he hadn't properly thanked Reese for his rescue; his first words upon their reunion had been self-deprecatory at best. Standing up, savoring the familiar smell of books and appreciating anew the gift of life, he called out to his partner, savior, and friend.

"I owe you a debt."

He would have said more, expressed his gratitude more fully, but Reese's cell phone rang just then. Even before he heard the female voice or saw the reaction on Reese's face, Finch had a feeling of dread – a premonition of who it was. After all, who else would be calling Reese at this time of night? Both Carter and Fusco knew that they were back in town, as safe as they could possibly be. When Reese glanced in his direction, his dark eyes filled with concern, Finch knew: Root wasn't through with them yet.

The threat in Reese's response to her sent a cold tingling sensation up Finch's spine, for he knew exactly how deadly the former assassin could be, but at the same time he was comforted to know that the next time, Reese would not hold back. His terror was not quite allayed – not just yet – but he felt safer than he had in what seemed an interminably long time. There was a pause laden with import after Reese disconnected the call. Finch broke it by expelling his breath and limping over to his desk.

"Well. Everything looks to be in order," he murmured, trying not to let Reese notice the slight trembling of his hands as they danced over the keyboard. He was relieved to see that his system was still intact and his firewalls had not detected any attempts to compromise it.

"I'll just get Bear settled in," Reese spoke in a schooledly calm tone. "I'll try to teach him that your books aren't chew toys, too."

"I would appreciate that," Finch answered without looking away from the main monitor. He checked the more in-depth code that would tell him if anybody had tried to access the system and cover their tracks, watching it scroll up with a practiced eye. He could hear Reese talking to the dog – Finch knew enough German to pick up the gist of the monologue – and moving around in the other room, spreading out a blanket for Bear to lie down on. Apparently, Reese had already set out bowls of water and food.

A sudden scrabbling sound made Finch look up in alarm, but it was only the dog chasing a tennis ball, which Reese must have thrown. Bear obediently took it back to Reese and they played fetch for a while. Finch watched them for a long moment, his mind almost blank. It was somehow calming to see Reese just playing with the dog, whispering words of encouragement which Bear lapped up like water. When Reese patted Bear and stood up, Finch barely managed to return his eyes to the screen before Reese caught him staring.

Reese walked up to the desk and picked up the chewed book. Assessing the damage with a grave expression, he returned to Bear and told him, patiently but firmly, that books were not to be chewed. Finch wondered about the effectiveness of his disciplinary tactics when he went right back to petting the dog, but decided against voicing his concerns yet; if Bear destroyed another one, he would insist that Reese use different and more stringent measures.

Reese headed to the bathroom to refill Bear's water bowl, glancing at Finch's monitors each time he passed by the desk. The tall man stooped to scratch Bear's head affectionately one last time, then sauntered back into the office.

"Are we good to go?"

"Yes... everything looks fine, thank God," Finch replied with almost religious fervor. He had begun shutting down his programs when Reese had walked by, realizing that his partner had spent an exhausting few days, too, and would no doubt like to get some well-deserved rest. Finch was satisfied that he had taken care of all essential business items so he would not have to access the system for another day or two, which he knew he needed to get his body back on track. He simply couldn't bounce back like he used to. Even now, his joints protested as he stood up from the chair. He was thankful that Reese had enough tact to not offer his arm or anything.

The ride back to the apartment was quiet. Finch was too tired to be nervous, but he did worry whether he should broach the subject of sleeping arrangements or let Reese bring it up. The right moment did not present itself, so he mutely followed Reese into the apartment again. His mind was halfway asleep as he attended to his toilet and changed in the bathroom, but when he put on the garish pajamas they had purchased earlier at the bodega, the colors were so loud that they woke him back up. The green was a bright, yellowish green that made his skin look pasty, and the dragons were printed in gold with purple flames behind them.

"Well, this is certainly... tasteless," Finch muttered to himself. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he forced the scowl off of his face before exiting the bathroom. What he saw there made his eyes open wide and his brows shoot skyward: Reese was wearing a matching pair of pajamas, only his had silver dragons with red flames on a field of bright blue.

"That's a... fresh new look for you, Finch," Reese remarked dryly, nodding once as though approving.

"It's certainly... _festive_," Finch responded, equally dryly.

"Did I mention that dragons are a symbol of good luck and health in many Asian cultures? They're also used to ward off evil."

"Well, then, I should be practically _invincible_ now."

The wry smirk tugging at the corner of Finch's mouth suddenly froze as he was enveloped in a crushing embrace. Reese had closed the few feet of distance between them in the blink of an eye to wrap his arms around the smaller man, holding him tightly as though he might try to escape – as if there were anyplace he would rather be than safe in Reese's care.

Finch felt a warm dampness being pressed against his forehead, and it took his brain a moment to realize that he was being kissed. Repeatedly. Tenderly. Passionately. Reese was _kissing_ him. On his hair, his receding hairline, his temple, his brow. Reese was cupping the back of Finch's head so that, as he pressed his lips against Finch's face, he would not put any strain on his old neck injury.

Finch simply gaped at Reese (or rather, at Reese's shoulder), unsure how to respond, what to do or say. He wasn't altogether certain that this was really happening, that it wasn't a dream or hallucination brought on by extreme duress. He had fantasized what it might feel like to be held in Reese's arms, even to be kissed by him, but he had never in his wildest daydreams expected it to actually _happen_.

Sensing his confusion, Reese halted his display of affection in favor of holding him with his cheek pressed against his temple. With his lips close to Finch's ear, Reese drew upon all his courage to whisper three simple words:

"I missed you."


	7. Chapter 7

Absence

* * *

As Reese held Finch, his arms wrapped around the startled man in a strong yet tender embrace, he could not bring himself to meet Finch's eyes. His employer had ignored or rebuffed all of his previous flirtations as teasing, sometimes even as annoyances, so Reese worried that this sudden expression of affection would also be dismissed as some extravagant joke. But the truth was, when he had heard Finch make that droll comment – so quintessentially _Finch_ – Reese could not hold back the surge of emotion that had caused him to grab the older man and kiss the nearest parts of his head. Even now, as he tried to get a grip on his impulses, he was struggling to keep tears of joy and relief at bay.

"John...?"

Reese tried to answer Finch's perplexed voice but a sob came out instead. He gritted his teeth, determined not to make a fool of himself in front of his very reserved employer, but before he could formulate a response, he felt Finch's arms – hesitantly at first, then with increasingly more confidence – slide around his back to return the embrace.

"I missed you, too."

It did not matter that Reese had not been able to utter the three _other_ words which he had really wanted to say, or that he did not know if Finch meant what he said with the same intensity as Reese had: it was enough that Finch was not repulsing him. Reese's tears grew to an unrestrainable torrent, falling wet and hot on Finch's skin as Reese gasped for the air which had suddenly become elusive.

What surprised Reese even more, though, and ultimately brought him back to his senses, was feeling Finch trembling and shaking in his arms. It took him a minute to realize that Finch was crying, too – leaning against him, clutching him for support as sobs wracked his body. Reese attributed Finch's breakdown to extreme exhaustion, which made him realize that he needed to let the older man rest. He feared he would never have the opportunity to hold the man he loved like this again or to have him be so vulnerable, so compliant to his advances; nevertheless, he would do what had to be done.

"I... I'm sorry, Harold," Reese said, his voice hoarse, as he carefully tried to pull away without removing his support. "You must be tired after... everything. I should let you get some rest."

Finch sniffed and answered, "That's quite all right, John... I'm sure it's been just as stressful for you these past few days. And I can't begin to express how glad I am, and relieved, to be back here. I don't think I've ever appreciated being _safe_ as much as I do now."

"Yeah... you never know what you've got..." Reese murmured.

"Until it's gone," Finch finished in agreement.

Since Finch did not draw away from him, Reese kept his arms wrapped loosely around his partner's shoulders in a protective gesture as they walked slowly into the other room. He wanted to protect this man, so much, from all the evil in the world. One of those evils now had a name and a deceptively pretty face, but Reese vowed anew to do everything in his power to keep Root away from Finch. But right now, he needed to let Finch rest and heal as much as possible.

"Is this side all right?" Reese asked, indicating the nearer side of the bed he had turned down, while Finch was in the bathroom, to reveal blue satin sheets.

"Uh... actually, I would prefer the other side, if that's all right with you..."

"Of course. Although I hope you don't mind if I join you – I didn't get much sleep these past few days, either," Reese said apologetically as he helped Finch limp around to the far side. "Carter was gonna make me sleep on the floor, but at least it didn't come to that."

"As tired as I am, Mr. Reese, I doubt I would have even noticed if you hadn't said anything," was Finch's careful reply. He had felt a nervous jolt, somewhere behind his navel, at Reese's casual mention of the sleeping arrangements; it had taken all of his self-discipline to not let his surprise and near-panic show on his face. But he could hardly ask the younger man to sleep on the couch when he had risked his life and almost literally moved heaven and earth to save him. He arranged the pillows the way he usually did, positioning them to support his injured body, while Reese observed his little ritual.

"Do you need any more?" Reese asked.

"No, this is quite enough, thank you," Finch responded, then sat down on the edge. Reese stood guard in front of him, ready to extend a hand if he needed it, while Finch gingerly lay down with one pillow under his waist and placed another pillow between his knees. As he shifted to settle in, Reese pulled the covers up over him.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes, very. Thank you."

Reese smiled. "Thank yourself. You picked out this bed, didn't you?"

"Yes. I hope you like it."

"It's the best I've ever had."

"Good." Finch removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table. "Goodnight, Mr. Reese."

"Goodnight, Finch."

There was a note of amusement in Reese's voice but he did not comment on the incongruity of the formal address in such an intimate setting. He padded quietly through his apartment, turning off the lights, before stepping into the bathroom. By the time he came out and slipped into his side of the bed, he could hear Finch breathing long and deep, almost snoring.

"Goodnight, Harold," he whispered at the silhouette of the other man as they both lay bathed in the dim light of the nocturnal city. The soft tuft of hair on Finch's head, backlit by the window, practically begged to be touched. Reese listened for a while to make certain that Finch was really asleep, then inched closer to his backside, sliding noiselessly between the smooth sheets. One arm slid under his torso in the small gap created by the pillow; the other slipped over his waist to meet the first, encircling Finch, surrounding him with Reese's protection and care.

Reese pressed his lips against the warm fuzz on the back of Finch's head. He was alive, he was not gravely injured, and – most importantly – he was _here_, in Reese's apartment, of his own volition. Without thinking, Reese's hold on him tightened. This one man, outwardly unremarkable in an ocean of eight million, had become the most precious thing in Reese's existence. He wanted not only to keep him safe, but to _keep_ him: for himself, to be his and his alone, even as a secret from the rest of the world. Nothing else mattered anymore. The strength of his desire simultaneously made Reese hot with passion and cold with dread.

There was a sudden change in how Finch felt. He had stiffened, tensed, sensing Reese's arms capturing him. Reese had intended to indulge in the contact for only a moment, but that moment was no longer one of solitude.

Finch swallowed and cleared his throat. "Ah... John?"

Reese grimaced; it was too late now to draw back.

"Yes, Harold?" he asked blandly.

"May I ask... what you're doing?"

"I'm keeping you safe," Reese smoothly replied. "I wouldn't want to find you in bed with me when I'm half asleep, and treat you like an intruder. I might hurt you out of reflex."

"Ah... but if you're holding me like this, you wouldn't assume I'm an intruder?"

"Right. I'll know you're a lover, not an enemy."

"I see..."

In his mind's eye, Reese could see Finch's mouth quirking to the side in his characteristic expression of forbearance. It made the corners of his own mouth curve upward and also made him want to hug Finch all the more tightly. Reese steeled his nerves and took the plunge, pulling Finch's body close against his own so that there was hardly any air between his chest and Finch's back, his hands pressed against the older man's breasts.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up," Reese softly said, his breath swirling in warm eddies around Finch's ear. "Just relax... I've got you. You're safe now."

"Yes... I suppose you're right," Finch mumbled, his heartbeat (which Reese could feel through the thin fabric of his pajamas) beginning to slow down to its normal rate. "I don't suppose there are many places safer than this..."

"I won't let anything bad happen to you. Not while you're here," Reese reassured him. "I've got you... I've got you, Harold. Go back to sleep."

"Mmm," Finch responded unintelligibly, and soon his breathing had slowed as well as his heart rate.

Reese brushed his lips against Finch's head and neck a few more times before he, too, allowed his body to sink into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Absence

* * *

Years of training, as well as necessity, had made Reese's body adapt to functioning without rest or nourishment for long periods of time; it also had learned to sleep hard when it was able to, catching up in a few hours what would take ordinary men days to recover. So when Reese opened his eyes early the next morning, his senses were refreshed and alert. It might have had something to do with the fact that Finch was also sleeping soundly, safe in his arms, and that the usually reserved man had allowed Reese to hold him in such an intimate manner. Reese did not question it – he was simply grateful that this incident, which could have taken many turns for the worse, had ended as well as it had.

He nuzzled the hair at the nape of Finch's neck, inhaling the scent of shampoo and soap as well as a faint musk that was distinctly Finch. The computer genius smelled like dried maple leaves, Reese thought – slightly musty, like the old books he collected, but with a sweet undertone. **CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED **

Once his toilet was complete, Reese dressed quietly, casting glances at the bed to check on Finch and debating what to do. If he started cooking breakfast, Finch would wake up; but since the older man would probably continue to sleep if uninterrupted, and no doubt needed to, Reese decided to take Bear out for his morning walk first. He scribbled a note – tempted to write it in tap code but opting not to – and left it under Finch's glasses where he was sure to find it, then pressed a kiss to the sleeping man's forehead before leaving the apartment.

* * *

Reese hurried back after returning Bear to the library. He had spent some time playing fetch with the dog in a nearby park so it would not become restless for a while. He had instructed it again not to chew Finch's books, but Reese was a realist: he knew that dogs, like people, would revert to their old ways if left unsupervised. He hoped Finch wouldn't mind keeping Bear occupied while he was away working cases, but he was also confident that interacting with the animal would be good therapy for Finch after what he had just been through.

As he turned the corner onto his street, Reese saw a city service truck parked near his building. Its extendable bucket was already positioned at the top of a utility pole and the man in it was calling out to his partner below.

"Yeah, looks like it's still in good working condition. You sure this is the one?"

"That's the number on the work order. Maybe it's just glitching once in a while."

The man in the bucket shrugged, turning over a traffic camera in his hand. "All right. I guess it had to be replaced with the new model sooner or later, anyway."

Reese's sharp eyes checked every bulge in his tool belt and uniform, making sure the man didn't have any concealed weapons, since from his vantage point, Reese's bed – and Finch sleeping in it – was clearly visible. Satisfied that he posed no immediate threat, Reese still took the stairs two steps at a time in his haste to get back to Finch. He hadn't thought thirty minutes would be a long time to leave him alone, but seeing the utility workers had made him feel uneasy. Slipping back into his apartment, he expelled a sigh of relief to see Finch breathing peacefully and having hardly moved.

He weighed the benefits of food versus sleep and concluded that right now Finch needed sleep more than breakfast. For that matter, so did he. Reese changed back into his pajamas and carefully got back into bed, sliding close to Finch again, and noted that the utility workers had left. There was a new traffic camera pointing down at the street. Everything seemed to be back to normal.

Until he noticed a slight movement. He might not have seen it if the sunlight had not glinted off one of the metallic parts. The traffic camera, which before had been affixed in its position, was slowly moving, pivoting on its new mechanical elbow, turning up and over to stare straight into Reese's apartment.

He contemplated it for a few seconds, then lifted one hand to wave his fingers at it.

_"I see you, too,"_ he thought silently at the Machine. _"What is it – you don't trust me with Finch? Afraid that I won't take good care of him? Or maybe, you understand that sleeping together leads to sex, and you're worried that I might take advantage of him in his weakened state? Is that it?" _

A surge of anger spread through his body, but just then Finch grunted and attempted to move. The older man seemed to fall right back into the deep sleep of exhaustion, so Reese could not resist the impulse to kiss his neck where it was exposed, above the collar of the gaudy pajamas, with a fervor that drowned all other emotions.

He felt more than heard Finch's breath catch in his throat, as well as Finch's heart thudding as he tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there.

"Good morning, Harold," Reese said in his most soothing tone. "It's all right, you're safe; I've got you... I've got you..."

The last phrase he repeated like a mantra while he rubbed one hand up and down his employer's chest, remembering how Finch had used it to comfort Leila. He felt Finch swallow before he spoke.

"Good morning, Mr. Reese. Is this how you treat _all_ of your rescued victims?"

"Only the extremely wealthy ones," he teased, a smile rising to his lips although Finch could not see it. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Finch said with a heartfelt sigh.

"Hungry?"

"Oh... not really. I'm feeling quite... comfortable, at the moment."

"Good."

Reese continued to stroke Finch's body in a slow, soothing motion, offering his own body for warmth and support. **CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED** ...he didn't want to move or do anything that would cause Reese to retract his comfort. His suspicious mind couldn't help wondering if Reese were doing this in order to extract more information from him; however, his body simply wanted to soak in his warmth and concern. Eventually, his body won out, allowing him to relax and mold his back against Reese's solid chest.

Little did Finch know that Reese was mustering his courage, taking heart from the fact that the older man had not yet asked him to remove his hands or stop groping him. Reese had vowed to at least confess his feelings for Finch if he got him back safely; now that he had, it was proving difficult to follow through. But the brief panic he had experienced upon finding the utility workers near his apartment had made him realize that, regardless of the outcome, this was something he needed to do.

"Finch... I have to tell you something," he finally began.

"Yes?"

Finch braced himself to receive bad news from the halting, breathless way Reese had spoken.

"When I realized that you were gone... that you were taken... by a psychopath who had killed Corwin in cold blood... I was almost petrified." Reese's hands stilled as he tried to express the complex assortment of emotions running through him. "I couldn't rest until I found you. I... blamed myself for letting you walk right into that trap."

"Oh, John, please don't—"

"I know what you're gonna say, but I need you to just _listen_ right now. I... I couldn't eat, and even when I forced myself to, it was like eating sand." Reese swallowed and licked his dry lips. "What I'm trying to say is... I couldn't have gone on without you. Not just working on the Numbers – anything. You saved my life, and I can't live without you anymore." Into the stunned silence, Reese whispered, "I _need_ you, Harold. I... I _love_ you."

* * *

A/N: If you are 18 years or older, you can read the uncensored version of this story at my website, TheaNishimori dot WordPress dot com.


	9. Chapter 9

Absence

* * *

Finch wondered if he were hallucinating. First he had awoken to find himself in Reese's apartment, wrapped in Reese's very arms; then he thought he had heard Reese declare his love for him – that the handsome, dashing former agent actually _loved_ him. It scarcely seemed possible. He continued to stare out the window, unseeing, as his brain tried to process this new information.

"Harold?" Reese prodded, becoming worried. "I'm sorry, if this isn't the sort of thing you wanted to hear right now..."

"No! No, I mean... I'm just... _overwhelmed_."

"Oh," Reese responded, sounding slightly disappointed.

Finch gave himself a mental shake and tried to shift his body, which was rather difficult to do since Reese still had him wrapped in a tight embrace, but the younger man relaxed his grip when he realized Finch was trying to move. Managing to roll onto his back, Finch looked up into Reese's eyes.

"I... I hardly know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know," Reese explained, his ruddy cheeks now tinged with red. "When I thought I might've lost you... that was my biggest regret. I didn't want anything to happen – to either of us – without at least letting you know how I felt."

Finch swallowed hard, feeling a little exposed without his glasses but still able to read the other man's expression clearly enough: there was a rare tenderness in Reese's face (perhaps even some shyness?) as he looked down at his employer and friend from his vantage point, perched on one elbow. His free hand was still resting on Finch's chest in a protective gesture, and the warmth from it seemed to spread throughout Finch's body, giving him the courage to say what he did next.

"Funny you should mention that," he began, his lips quirking nervously, "because... I feel the same way about you, too."

"You do?" Reese echoed, not hiding his surprise.

Finch felt the heat rise into his face but answered, "Yes. For quite some time now."

Reese considered this for a moment before asking, "When were you going to tell me?"

"Probably never," was Finch's honest reply. "I... I didn't think you would be... interested in me, that way... and I didn't want my personal feelings to... interfere with our mission."

Reese mulled this over, then mumbled, "So if I hadn't told you..." as though to himself. Then he declared, enunciating his words very clearly and looking straight into Finch's wide-open eyes, "Harold: I promise you, no matter what happens, I will always do my job. For you." The corners of his lips twitched upward as he added, "Even if we have a lovers' spat, I won't let that affect my performance. Okay?"

"Uh... okay," Finch replied, still feeling rather dazed. The idea that he and Reese could be involved in a "lovers' spat" – which assumed, first of all, that they were "lovers" – was difficult to wrap his mind around. He did not have long to ponder on the mystery of it all, however, since Reese bent down to place his lips on Finch's, mouthing at the soft flesh with a hunger that had long been ignored. Feeling his own need assert itself in the form of a painful ache radiating from his heart, Finch grabbed at Reese's shoulders as he returned the kiss with equal hunger and enthusiasm.

When Reese's tongue begged entrance, Finch gladly granted it, and the younger man's strong muscle began stroking its counterpart, inviting it to join in a friendly tussle. As they tasted each other and enjoyed the heady friction of their sensory organs, Reese carefully positioned his long torso over Finch's, supporting his weight on one arm so as to not crush his new lover or place any unnecessary strain on him. After taking a deep breath to replenish his lungs with oxygen, Reese dove back into Finch's mouth and licked the base of his upper teeth. Finch gasped, nostrils flaring...

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

He knew Finch needed to take his mind off of his recent ordeal; he hoped this would be a good start.

**CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED**

Reese crawled up along his body on his elbows and rested a fraction of his weight on his torso, nerves on alert in case he made Finch uncomfortable. Still gasping, Finch was staring up at the ceiling, but when Reese kissed his cheek he turned his attention back to his lover.

"Was it good, Harold?" Reese asked, a wry smirk belying his question. He knew damn well that it had been good, but he wanted to hear Finch say so.

"That was... _very_ good, Mr. Reese," Finch answered, then drew in a deep breath. "I had no idea... you were so talented."

The pleasure of his approval warmed Reese down to his toes, and he buried his face against Finch's throat to kiss him there.

"I'm not made of porcelain, John," Finch remarked in an amused voice. "You can put your weight on me. I'll let you know if it's too much."

"Okay," Reese replied before resting more of his body, gradually, on Finch. The older man did not complain but rather encouraged him to relax by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him even closer.

**CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED **

"No need, Harold," Reese told him, slipping his hands around and underneath Finch so he could snuggle closer and more comfortably. "But I do want to ask you a favor..."

"What might that be?"

"I want to hear you say it."

Finch instantly knew what he was talking about.

"I love you, John... I love you..."

A rush of heat threatened to overspill Reese's eyes, but he squeezed his lids shut to contain it.

"I love you, too, Harold."


	10. Chapter 10

Absence

* * *

**CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED ~ CENSORED**

Reese listened to his lover's deep, slow breathing as he lay nestled against his chest, simply appreciating the warmth and intimacy they now shared. He had not felt this way in years. He had not allowed himself to fall in love with anybody since he had left Jessica to serve his grief-stricken country; he had not expected to ever fall in love again since she had died; and yet, here he was – madly in love with a reclusive billionaire who still kept secrets from him. The secrets no longer mattered, though, because he knew what was in Finch's heart. He was a good man and kind, who had risked everything to rescue Reese. That alone told him all he ever needed to know about the mysterious genius.

He glanced out the window to confirm that the newly installed traffic camera was still trained on them, watching them with its unblinking eye. Reese wondered what the Machine made of their first sexual encounter. Did it see Reese as threatening or as fulfilling Finch's natural needs? As a competitor or as a caregiver? He wasn't sure if the Machine could actually feel any emotions, let alone anything so complex as jealousy, but he was fairly certain it was capable of analyzing what had just transpired between the two men. It was far more meaningful and momentous than a simple exchange of words **CENSORED**. He also didn't know if the Machine approved or disapproved of their new relationship, and – in the event it did not – what, if anything, it was capable of doing to discourage their behavior.

Since he could not find any answers about the Machine at the moment, Reese decided to focus on caring for Finch. That meant slipping out of bed without jostling the other man and preparing some breakfast. He hadn't used his kitchen to cook for somebody else yet, but he had bought a wide range of groceries yesterday in anticipation of it. He intended to keep Finch safe, comfortable, and content in his apartment for as long as he could. This space, which Finch himself had prepared to be a haven of rest and security for Reese, would now serve as a house of healing for him as well.

* * *

Finch awoke to the smell and sound of bacon sizzling on a griddle, which made hunger the foremost need in his still-hazy mind. Grabbing his glasses, he found the note Reese had left him earlier but deduced that Reese was already back, cooking, in the kitchen. He pulled on the navy-blue robe he had borrowed the night before over his gaudy pajamas before shuffling out to the kitchen in bare feet.

"Something smells good," he remarked as he peeked around the corner.

"That would be me," Reese countered with a tiny smirk, glancing up at Finch. "But you're gonna have to eat some breakfast before you get to go at me. I hope you like potato pancakes."

"Adore them," Finch deadpanned. However, he couldn't completely stifle his grin at the incongruous sight of Reese – assassin extraordinaire – fixing breakfast in his loud, dragon-patterned silk pajamas. He watched as Reese removed the strips of bacon and poured an unappetizing glop of batter onto the griddle; then he decided to answer the call of nature and wash up before breakfast. Finch didn't shave, though, since he knew it would be awkward with his hand still bandaged. He hoped his stubble wouldn't be a turn-off to Reese, who often sported a salt-and-pepper growth due to long stakeouts but somehow managed to make it look sexy.

"My, what a spread," Finch commented at the steaming plates of food Reese had set out on the table by the couch.

"We can save the leftovers for later," Reese replied. "If we have any."

"Just when my waistline was beginning to shrink," Finch mumbled while helping himself to a generous serving of potato pancakes. Having adopted a hunger strike while in Root's custody, everything tasted more flavorful than usual to him. He was so engrossed in his meal, in fact, that he didn't notice Reese was scarcely touching his food – he was simply watching Finch eat, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Is something the matter?" Finch asked, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.

"No. Nothing is wrong," Reese assured him, then broke into a breathtaking, genuine smile. "Everything is just... perfect."

Finch was caught off-guard when Reese leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his grizzled cheek.

"I missed you," Reese whispered into his ear, his voice husky and laden with desire. "I'm just... so glad to have you back."

After swallowing hard, Finch managed to respond, "As am I."

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

"Shall we, then?" Reese smiled as he stood and gestured at the large bed, its blankets still rumpled and turned down as though awaiting them. Finch allowed him to escort him across the floor, slipping his injured hand around the arm Reese offered for support, then hoisted himself up onto the bed. Reese sat beside him on the edge and gazed down at him, warmth and love overflowing from his eyes.

"I love you so much, Harold," he began. "I _want_ you so much, too... I need you to tell me what you're ready for. I don't want to push you too far too soon."

"I'm ready for... _anything_, John," Finch answered, returning a frank, forthright gaze. "I know I'm not young anymore, and you'll have to accommodate my injuries, but... I know you won't hurt me. So, whatever you want to do... I'm ready."

"Finch..."

Unable to contain himself, Reese bent over to smother Finch in rough, needy kisses. Their teeth clashed when Finch opened his mouth, but his lover quickly moved on to cover all of his skin with his hot tongue and nibbling lips. If he didn't care for Finch's stubble, he certainly didn't show it, and soon they were both panting and flushed. Reese drew back for a moment to look deep into Finch's eyes, then began unbuttoning his pajamas. Finch tried to reciprocate but his bandaged hand made him clumsy.

"You want me to take this off?" Reese asked, teasing.

"Yes. Very much," Finch informed him.

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, but I'm wrapping this story up with two chapters at once.


	11. Chapter 11

Absence

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

"So beautiful..." Finch whispered appreciatively.

"So are you."

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

"Oh... this is nice."

"It is, isn't it?" Reese's crow's feet wrinkled in pleasure. "I could do this all day... Just... enjoying your company."

"Oh, is that what you call this?"

With another chuckle, Reese planted a kiss on the tip of his lover's nose.

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

Reese shot him a grin. "It was worth every bit of trouble I went through to get you here. You're gorgeous when you smile... Did you know that?"

"I am?" Finch echoed...

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

**CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT ~ CENSORED ~ SMUT **

* * *

"That... was... amazing," Reese finally managed to say.

"_You're_ amazing," Finch replied, covering Reese's hands with his own.

"No, _you_ are."

Finch let a light laugh slip through him, which reverberated through Reese as well.

"I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree on that one, Mr. Reese."

"Agreed, Mr. Finch."

Finch was gazing out through the window without really seeing anything, simply enjoying the comfort of being in his lover's arms, **CENSORED**, when his brain alerted him to an anomaly.

"John... is that a new camera over there?"

"Yeah. They just installed it this morning. New model – can move on its arm."

There was a moment of tense silence. Reese was the one who broke it.

"The Machine had them install it. I think it just wanted to make sure that I'd take good care of you."

"Oh."

Finch sounded rather disconnected, neither pleased nor horrified by this discovery, as though he had deliberately drained his response of emotion.

"I _am_ taking good care of you, aren't I?" Reese prodded.

"Most undoubtedly," Finch replied, sounding more like his usual self. "I've never been taken care of better..."

His voice trailed off as Reese bent over to kiss his cheek. It took some doing, due to Finch's injured neck, but they managed to twist around until they could kiss full on the mouth **CENSORED**. The next moment, Finch had forgotten completely about the Machine's new eye on them.

Satisfied, it returned the camera to its normal position, to monitor the streets below.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! This is the end of this story. For the full version – if you're 18 or older – please go to my website, Thea Nishimori dot Word Press dot com.


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